


That's A Weird Looking Orphan, But Okay

by aenor_llelo, BattleBlaze, Falrisesi, Rocket999



Series: Orphan's Path [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Developing Friendships, Dream Smp, Fictional Religion & Theology, First Meetings, Fishing, For Some Reason The Only Techno and Philza Relationship Tag Was A Ship Tag, Friendship, Gen, Immortality, Injury Recovery, Just A Little Divine Horror. As A Treat, Language Barrier, Loser Loners Trying To Survive, Piglin Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Pre-Canon, Sickfic, Sneaking In My Minecraft Lore, Sometimes Friendship Is Trying To Keep Your Pet Idiot From Dying, Techno & Phil @ Eachother: haha look at this idiot, Technoblade & Phil Watson Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), The Life System From Dream SMP Canon, The Nether (Minecraft), Wing Grooming, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29541117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aenor_llelo/pseuds/aenor_llelo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BattleBlaze/pseuds/BattleBlaze, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falrisesi/pseuds/Falrisesi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocket999/pseuds/Rocket999
Summary: Really, he hadn't meant to save the man. But he did.Now what?orTechno and Philza.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson
Series: Orphan's Path [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170485
Comments: 177
Kudos: 650





	1. Starting The Stream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The priest starts his waking routine.

* * *

The voices do not lie. 

Most crucially, they do not want him to _die_.

Insane as the chorus will sing inside his head, they would not knowingly waste his time or lead him into something they did not think he could handle. (They were not as good at this second part when he was a child, but they learned.) 

(Eventually.)

He would not delude himself to say that the chorus _cares_ for him. But they have learned that they are best listened to when they are helpful, or at the very least benign. If there is anything they hate most of all, it’s being ignored, especially by their favorite.

In turn, as long as they don’t get him killed, he’ll play along with their suggestions.

There were more favorites, once. Ones like him who heard the sea and song, who could tend to the countless voices- in those days the chorus was not so loud in his skull. But their numbers fell, and so the stray spirits clamored into the few that were left, slowly breaking their remaining priests.

He is the only one left. Perhaps he will be the last.

Maybe that is why they run so wild within him. If he dies, they will have nowhere else to go. No one left to feed them.

He takes a breath, stretches, and falls into the stream.

_Hehehe_

_Tech tech tech techNo_

_LATE? TECHNOLATE_

**_Technolaaaaaaaate_ **

_(st-st-stream techno)_

“Don’t make fun of me,” he mutters lowly. “I’m early, ya ingrates.”

_TechnoLate_

**_Late late techno late_ **

_technoLATE_

“Now you’re just fuckin’ with me.”

_Do the soulfire_

“People don’t like the soulfire,” he explains as he grabs a fistful of soul soil anyway. “You know that.”

_Yes_

_yes Good_

_Terror pog_

**_FEAR_ ** _pog_

_Homgry_

He snorts harshly, grinding another stem into the gathered soil and lighting it. The flame flickers with vague whispers, and he feels the chorus flare in response, as if dancing around this newest offering. _Easy crowd today, huh?_

**_Drop it into the market_ **

_And_ he spoke too soon. 

“You _do_ realize if I did that they’d all probably finally snap and jump me, right?” He scuffs his hooves on the ground, kicking out the last shred of soil between them as he heads back inside. “I’m game to 20v1 any day but that’s a pretty lame way to go out.”

_Lame_

_LAME_

_Technolame_

_TECHNOLAME_

**_DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT D O I T_ **

He grimaces as the sea of whispers crashes into screaming, riding out the migraine of their latest temper tantrum as he checks his stores. He’s low on food- nothing but gold pickled root, wither bone meal, and the old urn of ghast blubber chips.

Good enough for breakfast, at least.

As slowly and deliberately as possible, he peels the gold leaf off the roots, putting it into the waiting pot.

_technoLAME_

_Techno slow_

_TECHNOSTALL_

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lies as he breads blubbered roots into bone meal, insistently cooking them one at a time. “I have never stalled in my life, that is my least favorite thing to do.”

_Techno_ **_RUDE_ **

**** _Technolame_

_Cromch cromchy_

_E e e e_

“Maybe if you didn’t give me a wake-up migraine I’d be less rude. That’s a thought.”

_E e e e e_

_Eeeeeeee_

It’s not an apology (it never is) but it’s as close as he’ll get from them. He might actually manage to eat in peace this time. Maybe.

**_Enderman goes cronch_ **

_Yessssss_

_Tall and Lanky_

_Bouncy cronch_

_EAT IT_

“Really?” He asks. “They’re such a _bitch_ to kill. There’s not even that much meat on them!”

_Jerky_

_Free obsidian cronch_

_Goes AEAEAEAEAEAEAEEAEAEAEA_

At least they gave him enough time to scarf the last of his meal. “And I’d have a new dent on my neck to show for it,” He complains.

_Scars POG_

**_B L O O D_ **

**_BLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOODBLOOD_ **

“Yeah, yeah, _yeah_.” 

He could have slapped his old braces on his arms with his eyes closed, but where would the show in _that_ be? If anything, the little freeloaders get half their kick off the prep for a kill, down to getting out their favorite netherite sword.

**_Blood for the blood god_ **

**_heheheHEHEHE_ **

**_blood for the blood god_ **

**_Bloodforthebloodgod_ **

**_Heheheheheeeeeeeeeeeee_ **

“You guys are gonna have to help me _look_ for an enderman, y’know.”

A briefly blessed silence reigns.

_LAAAAAAME_

_Lame_

_Technoloser_

“This area’s a dead zone for creatures,” he points out, gesturing to the wide fields of soul soil. “And I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.”

_Better eyes than an_ **_overworlder_ ** _at least_

_Better than an enderman_

“It’s gonna go faster if you help,” he needles. “C’mon. Speedrun?”

At the prospect of a challenge, the chorus quickly changes their tune.

_GO FAst_

_MARATHON POG_

_MANHUNT MANHUNT MANHUNT_

_3 at 500 blocks east KILL KILL KILL_

“Now we’re talking,” he sighs.

Stowing his sword and hook, he trots off his porch and into the valley, soul speed trailing on his hooves.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably different than my usual fare for you guys, but I thought I might have a little fun! Got into Dream SMP by accident mostly but I admire the dedication that goes into building the story.


	2. Tall Tales, Tall Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philza simply falls.

* * *

To be fair…

... _ to be fair. _

In all honesty, Philza thought the Nether hype was a bit bullshit.

Netherhopping is a risky (albeit profitable) profession, chock full of tall tales left and right, but the hoppers themselves were cagey sons o’ bitches. The only person who can get a straight word out of a hopper is another hopper, and everyone else has to sift through all their code words and traded half-truths for anything.

He  _ kind of _ gets it. Tall tales or not, the Nether’s a dangerous place for an overworlder. But there was bound to be a little selfish motivation in their fearful exaggerations, an attempt to scare people away from competing with their lucrative work.

So past the stuff about the biomes, he’d tuned out with a skeptical ear. The mobs wouldn’t be a problem when he could literally soar above them. If the place really was as lava covered as everyone was making it sound, there’d be good thermal anyway. Whatever unfriendly nonsense was lingering on the ground wasn’t gonna bother him. (He heard something about angry pigs, but that sounds like a problem for people who have to walk.)

Besides, he wasn’t there to loot. He was there to travel. He heard that block distance in the Nether translated to a bigger distance in the overworld and wanted to test it. Just go from one portal to another, see how far it took him.

Philza had failed to account for the possibility of flying mobs.

The blazes (blazers, blazoids?) were… annoying. At least they were poor with altitude, content to fire at him from a comfortable distance. All he had to do was soar higher and that was that.

He can get how the place might be a bit risky for an  _ overworlder _ , at least the usual kind, but it really feels like the crazier stories were going to stay that way. Just stories.

Of course, shortly after making that judgement, he ran into a giant angry white balloon animal floating right up at the nether ceiling, directly in his path. Wearing a  _ frighteningly _ human-looking face.

Hmm.

Alright then.

That’s… a thing. That exists. That’s… horrifying. At least it has its eyes closed. Maybe it’s blind.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

He’ll just… ignore that. He can practically feel the world ceiling on the edge of his wings, but the urge to fly higher and  _ escape _ persists. It’s fine!  _ It’s fine. _

It was not fine.

It was the gurgling, shrieking, death rattle of a child, reverberating directly into his ears. Just shocking enough to make him turn in his flight even for the slightest second.

Just long enough to see the fireball flying straight for him.

(Just long enough for him to not be able to stop it.)

...He thought crashing into the ceiling would hurt more. It sounds like it did. 

It’s the only sound, really.

The explosion wasn’t loud at all, everything’s just so s l o w

Like he’s gone and hit his head (but he didn’t, right? It would hurt more if he did)

(it would hurt more)

(it would hurt)

(it hurts)

Why does it hurt, anyway? (He only hit the ground one 

two 

three 

five 

six 

two 

nine 

nine 

nine)

_ Oh. _

_ I’m gonna die. _

He might have laughed.  _ Someone _ did. Ground’s all… weird. And red.

And moving.

_ Why was it so hot… _

Something scuffs on the rocks next to him. In front of him? Behind him? Something… why can he see in front of him,  _ wasn’t he on the… _

“Ged-”  _ Fuck _ , shouldn’t have talked, that hurt. It hurts like the wet cough that’s punishing him for having tried. “ _...get off… _ ”

Not that it helped, anyways. His face is all backed up on the ground (that’s weird, could’ve sworn he fell different than that) and 

SOMETHING GOT HIS WINGS, GET OFF  _ GET OFF _

Get away 

_ Or I’ll… _

_...I’ll what. _

_ I can’t do anything. _

_ I can’t  _

His vision started to fade, fuzzy black blanketing the edges. 

  
“ _Just_ -” His head lolls onto coarse scratchy cloth, throat burning like the rest of his pathetic whispers. “.. _.j’st_ _make ‘t quick._ ”

* * *


	3. Free Sky Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The priest gets a free pet.

* * *

He was starting to haul the enderman back when the chorus thought it would be a _hilarious_ idea to make him fight a ghast.

Y’know. For funsies.

Because _of course_ he can take down a ghast with just a hook and a knife _while trying to haul another kill_.

Fun. 

He can’t even remember how many times they’ve pulled that stunt on him. They never get bored of it. As far as he can tell, they just think it’s funny to watch ghasts get caught on his hook.

(Okay. He kind of agrees with them on that. It _is_ pretty funny.)

But he’s not gonna do it while hauling a 3 block tall enderman corpse everywhere. 

_Hey_

_Heeeey. Left_

_ON YOUR LEFT_

Why yes, there _is_ a ghast on his left. Very far away. Very far _up_. The thing’s practically scraping the world ceiling. Screaming its lungs out. Typical ghast behavior. Must’ve locked eyes on a stray blaze or something.

“Fatso over there’s gonna body whatever he’s screaming at before I can nab him. The distraction’s not gonna last long enough-”

_Free meat?_

He pauses halfway through stowing the enderman on his toboggan. (Take that, Sandspin. Dumbass hunter. Always calling him stupid for having a big crimson wood tobaggan. _He could KILL Sandspin sometime-_ )

He slaps himself in the face. _Focus, idiot._ “What kind of free meat are you talking about? Tryin’ to get me to eat blaze rods again?”

_Blaze rod spicy._

_Different meat_

_DEAD MEAT_

_Falling! Falling!_

_Forbidden sky meat! HEHEHEHE_

_Four armed thing_

“The fuck?” He squints up at the ghast- still screeching like a shitty orphan- and it’s starting to get weirdly low to the ground.

Almost like it’s following the green and black shape that’s plummeting down the jagged basalt cliffs.

Wait, _what_. 

“Lemme guess,” he sighs. “ _That_ free meat?”

_Sky meat!_

_Sky pog sky pog_

**_SKY BLOOD_ **

_BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD_

“Seriously? We don’t even know what the fuck that is. You tryin’ to poison me now?”

_A small price to pay for Forbidden Sky Meat_

_Pink Fleshy Sky Meat_

**_do it do it do it do it_ **

**_Blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god, blood for the blood god-_ **

“Alright, alright!” he finally caves as he grabs his hook. “You don’t have to shout at me. Better be some good fucking food at least.”

-<>♥<>-

The _forbidden sky meat_ , as the many voices so poetically called it, turned out to be an overworlder.

At least he’s pretty sure that’s what it is. He’s only seen one or two before- _alive_ at least- and not this close.

It’s still a big _maybe_ on what the fuck it actually is. It kind of looks like one of the usuals. It’s got five fingers (who even needs that many fingers? Weirdo) and those big long feet-leg...things that bend all funny.

He wasn’t expecting it to be pink- a little coppery, granted, but still pinkish. Like a piglin. Then again, this one’s still alive, so maybe that’s what they’re supposed to look like. 

Wait. _Is_ it alive?

Tacking his sword into the ground (always a good habit to keep blood off the blades) he crouches closer. The guy looks pretty banged up. It’s not bleeding out everywhere, but the whole body’s pretty scraped, and he’s pretty sure those shallower bumps he’s seeing are gonna look like nasty bruises if he pulled up the clothes covering it.

And it’s got these… _extra arms._ Long and furry, sprouting out if its back. He’s not really sure what those are for, but they’re in the way of getting a good look. Maybe he can just-

He barely started to nudge the thing when those big arms _snapped_ open with a loud air-cracking noise, flailing uselessly with panic. (Guy’s got blue eyes. Huh.)

_Alive sky meat! Kill it!_

_Funny sky meat! Keep it!_

_Kill it!_

_It’s cuuuuuuuuute_

He scoffs. “What are you, five? It’s not a baby hoglin.”

_Fluffy! Big eyed thing!_

_Sky pet POG_

_Tasty pet pog_

_Besides,_ a colder thought whispers, _if you leave it here, it will die anyway. Better not leave it to waste._

He drags a hand over his face. “ _Fffffine_ ,” he hisses. “Children, all of you.”

**EEEEEEEEEE**

**_E e e e e_ **

At least the guy’s long clothes are gonna keep it from getting too cozy with the enderman haul. He flips the thing onto its stomach so the weird furry arms cover the toboggan. (The locals are gonna talk no matter how he spins it, but the least he can do is _pretend_ it’s a normal kill.)

Hopefully it doesn’t make any more noises before he gets them all home, at least.

Or maybe it’ll just die on the way back and this won’t be a problem anymore. That would be nice. It did have a decent amount of meat on it.

“Die quick, sky meat,” he mutters as he pats its head. “It’ll be easier for all of us.”

-<>♥<>-

_Oh nether it’s not dying._

Hmm. _Hmm._

This is… a predicament.

In his defense, he was sure it would die faster. But now it’s been a good while since he’s gotten home, this thing’s _still alive_ , and this is starting to look a little sad.

_Option one- he drags this thing out back and puts it out of its misery._

Pros. There is no longer a living overworlder in his house.

Cons. There will be blood around his house. His house is surrounded by soul soil. Blood and soul soil do not mix. He would like to _still have a house._

_Option two- just chuck it into lava._

...Not ideal. The nearest lava river is right next to the nearest _village_ , and it wouldn’t do to have them accusing him of _dark magic_ (again). Chucking a suspicious and still living body into lava isn’t exactly a good look. Especially since it’s a perfectly viable piece of meat. If he doesn’t get accused of dark magic, he’s going to be accused of destroying food, which might be the worst of the possibilities.

_Option three…_

...well.

He lives out of the way of everyone else. No one ever expects him to go into town, and most importantly, no one dares to go near his house since the _incident_.

And it’s so _tricky_ to harvest ghasts. No one would notice if he had a little less tears to trade this haul.

Maybe the chorus can have their ‘pet sky meat’ after all. 

Just for a little while. Long enough for it to walk around well enough to run back wherever it came from.

_Pet Sky Meat!_

_Yessssss_

_Technothank!_

“Whatever,” he brushes off as he starts to clean the dusty brewing stand, “just don’t start naming it.”

_Meat! Name it Meat!_ _  
_ _Sky Meat!_

_Name is Sky Meat now!_

_Sky Meat, Sky Meat, Sky Meat, Sky Meat, Sky Meat, Sky Meat._

“Children, all of you.”

* * *


	4. Not Throwing Away My Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philza wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accessibility warning for vision or reading impaired: this chapter contains minor passages with exotic formatting. These are deliberate stylistic choices and are not intended to be visually/verbally coherent.

* * *

The first surprise is the fact that Philza wakes up at all, honestly.

Awareness is a marathon, grappling with a wet fish barehanded. It slips and slides, steadily anchoring in hazy bursts until it snaps down on like a trap behind his eyeballs.

Breathing is _absolutely fucked_. The first compulsive gasp he’d taken had been a mistake if the grit in his chest meant anything.

But he’s… alive. He… he is alive, right? He’s got all his hands and feet, wings are still aching like a motherfucker _and his bracelets are gone._

He shoots up from out of the cot, all the protest in his back be damned, shaking hand clamping down like a vice on his arm.

One warped heart pulses with the beat of his blood, nested fragile on the inside of each wrist.

One heart. 

One life. 

The _only_ life he has. 

(The only life he ever had, and ever will.)

Philza feels a shaking sound in the back of his throat. It might just be relief.

He doesn’t really remember all that much of what happened, but he’s got the impression that he should probably be a little less alive than he’s feeling at the moment. Not that he’ll look a gift horse in the mouth, but it is a little confusing.

For starters, he’s in a _bed_. Kind of.

It’s not an Overworld bed, that’s for sure, and thank gods for that. He remembers that was one of the things nether hoppers always hammered into each other’s heads- _don’t bring your beds to the Nether._ Something about the place fucked with the protection and pathfinding spells put into traveling beds- he’d heard horror stories of greenhorn hoppers who died in their sleep when their beds exploded on them.

It’s more of a cot that he’s been laid out on. Or a really sturdy rug.

Now that he’s not panicking anymore, a lot of this looks kind of weird. He’s definitely in a house of some kind, made of what looks like native materials. Even the windows don’t have a hint of glass, when he goes to check- instead the spaces are filled in with carefully woven lattices of turquoise vines.

The firepit smoulders low and blue with unseen kindling. Dry bundles of nether wart hang by a blackstone brewing stand, a crimson chest lies neatly in the corner, and a book lies on the table next to a disassembled skeleton arm.

All in all, the place looks suspiciously lived in. Were some outposts occupied full-time? Maybe some areas acted like rest stops for people who used the nether highways.

Maybe he could look around, just a little. No one would mind, right?

Well, maybe he would. His _ribs_ would, at least. And his ankles. And his wing sockets, _fuck_. But anything’s better staying stiff on the floor where his joints could lock even worse than they already have, from how long he must have been out.

So Philza picks up the book on the table. He’s not the prying sort of person, but hopefully he can get a better idea of where he is.

He does not get a better idea of where he is.

What he does get is that whoever owns this place has a knack for writing in _endewrit_ of all things, and not even well. Seriously, the characters are so compressed and _slim_ that he can barely even stand to look at it.

But there’s drawings of his wings. Crude and mechanical, but the markings are definitely _his_ , and there’s sketched-in guesses of sticks where his bones would be. He can make out some talk about fur and arms, even a small rendering of his life mark. Even complaining he has too many fingers- are they talking about his wings? And then there’s this other thing.

ᓭꖌ|| ᒲᒷᔑℸ ̣

What a strange word. It keeps showing up again and again, but it looks so _nonsensical_. But it must be important, so he squints at the words, finally making out the scratch, and it says...

Sky meat.

_Sky meat._

...This isn’t a hopper outpost.

There’s a clunking sound on the outside porch, a wooden parody of footsteps with too much weight behind them. It’s right outside the door _and he doesn’t have time_.

He could play dead. That’s what he’s already been doing, right?

_And it’d probably get you dead for real, dumbass._

Think, think, think-

There is no time to think. The door is gently kicked open by cloven black hooves and Philza, against all good reason, snaps open his wings. Tries to, at least. If the sharp pain wasn’t enough to stop it, the bind tying his right wing _was_.

It’s funny. It’s just of all the things or people that could have gotten him, he wasn’t expecting a piglin.

Hooved legs all bent like an animal, but still towering a good few pixels over him- gods, the guy probably barely fits in a full two blocks. Heavy brows just barely start to frown, and Philza realizes he doesn’t remember backing himself into the wall.

Or when he started staring at the gore-covered blade of the axe the piglin is carrying.

The piglin follows his gaze, head shuffling between him and the axe before its blank stare shifts with understanding, leaving the weapon by the door. Leaning back against the wall, it gingerly removes the half-soles from between its hooves, placing them by the axe.

Alright. He’s probably not going to be murdered. Probably. _Hopefully._

“ _Woah_ , woah, woah,” he belts out as the piglin walks closer, “what- what are you doing there, buddy?”

The piglin doesn’t answer (and Philza realizes a bit too late that the guy probably doesn’t even understand him), bouldering past his protests to experimentally twist at his arms and legs, even moving his head around.

“Alright,” he mutters under his breath. “This is- this is getting a little weird.”

The bind on his wing comes off, but before he can even enjoy _that_ , he’s getting poked there too, so that’s fun.

He’s either getting doctored or getting butchered, and at this point he’s not really sure which.

The piglin steps back slightly, nods to itself, and then checks on the brewing stand, swirling a bottle in its cloven hands before nudging it toward him. In the corner of his eye, he sees other empty bottles, cleaned like they’ve been freshly used. Had he been fed potions in his sleep?

This still doesn’t rule out him getting butchered, but he’d rather not take the axe option if it’s still on the table. At least the stuff isn’t getting forced down his mouth.

Not wanting to drag it out, he downs the suspicious brew in one fell swoop.

Which was a terrible fucking idea because his bones feel like they’re burning alive.

Philza coughs harshly as the regeneration potion eats through his bruises, breath coming out in jagged gasps as all the breaks he didn’t notice in his bones before started to reassert themselves with violent prejudice.

He probably would have keeled over on the floor if the piglin hadn’t caught him in its (his? Her? Their?) arms, letting out gruff hushing sounds while patting his back only a _little_ chidingly.

“ _Doctor it is, then_ ,” Philza breathlessly concedes.

The piglin scoffs.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> techno: they’re suspicious of me so clearly they will drink anything i give them slowly and suspiciously  
> philza: (chugs it)  
> chorus: (chug chug chug chug)  
> techno: w h y  
> philza wheezing on the ground: (pros- i have not been poisoned. cons- ouch oof my b o n e s)


	5. You May As Well Have Spoken In Morse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication is achieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accessibility warning for vision or reading impaired: this chapter contains minor passages with exotic formatting. These are deliberate stylistic choices and are not intended to be visually/verbally coherent.

* * *

_ I am no longer certain the before mentioned extra arms on the sky meat are arms. They serve no dexterity and he (presumed male) appears to have mobility problems as the injuries in these limbs continue to persist. _

_ I said presumed. I do not know sky meat genders. Don’t make fun of me _

_ I SAID I WILL NOT SPEAK TO YOU THE SKY MEAT IS TRYING TO SLEEP _

-<>♥<>-

Philza doesn’t exactly have a point of reference, but this guy seems weirdly scholarly for a piglin. At the very least he doesn’t look the type.

Doc- he saved Philza’s life and he hasn’t exactly given a name yet, so Doc it is- he’s certainly not  _ dressed _ like a scholar as far as Philza can tell. His tunic is more of a red than the browns and blacks Philza’s seen on other piglins in passing, but aside from that there’s something borderline  _ monkish _ in his general demeanor. 

He’s even got reading glasses. Gold rimmed and glinting in the low firelight as blank grey eyes flit between Philza and the pages Doc scratches into with thin charcoal.

Philza can’t exactly make fun of Doc’s handwriting anymore now that he’s met the guy. Doc’s got literal hooves for hands, it’s not exactly peak delicate object handling. The fact that his writing is legible at all is probably an evolutionary miracle.

...Doc doesn’t talk much. Not to Philza. 

He talks to himself  _ a lot _ , though. Seems to carry on entire conversations, constantly interrupting himself with a whole spectrum of vaguely resigned expressions. (Which is when Philza really noticed that piglins have _ big tusks  _ attached to their faces, so that was fun.)

-<>♥<>-

_ Until further notice, the limbs shall be referred to as sky legs. _

_ The sky legs are very compact and fold against the back underneath a shield-like structure that is also attached to the body, but this is a deception- unfurled, the combined length of the sky legs are far larger than this house can reasonably contain. Thankfully, the sky meat is not an idiot and has noticed the spatial constraints on his own and has thus refrained from doing so often, although he has stretched the limbs one at a time to inspect them. As I assume there is a reason to do so, I will not stop him, and it also gives an opportunity to observe the appendages in further detail. _

_ Although the sky legs can fold and rotate like normal limbs, it seems the joints lock in place when unfurled, turning the limb into a flat large clothlike structure. Going by his behavior this must be normal. The sky legs are additionally covered in a long and varying fur that generates the majority of its size, though the structure of these furs is unlike any previously observed animal of the Nether. Perhaps the term is that they are arrowlike- they are long, wide, and pointed like arrowheads, bristled like arrow fletching. _

_ Although almost all wounds appear to have healed, some of these furs have become crooked, frayed, or broken. Sky meat treats this as an injury. I will attempt to find some way to alleviate this problem. _

-<>♥<>-

Doc’s gotten into a habit of handing him things now.

All sorts of random whatever- raw meat, skins, bones, rotten flesh. He even started handing off roots and mushrooms and nether wart. Philza’s just not really sure what the piglin wants him to  _ do _ with the stuff. He thought maybe Doc was asking him to help sort potion things but when he put them back on the shelves Doc just kind of hissed out a disappointed sigh.

-<>♥<>-

_ Sky meat appears to have gone on a hunger strike. Unfortunate. May need to resort to drastic measures. No we aren’t tying him up he’s not a baby hoglin what are you savages _

-<>♥<>-

Doc, out of nowhere, starts furiously writing in his book before  _ handing it off to Philza _ , complete with charcoal stick.

_ ↸𝙹 ||𝙹⚍ ∷ᒷᔑ↸. Do you read _ , says the skinny slant of the piglin’s endewrit.

||ᒷᓭ, ∴⍑||, Philza writes back.  _ Yes, why? _

_ ᒷᔑℸ ̣ ∴⍑ᔑℸ . EAT WHAT _

Oh.  _ Oh. _

-<>♥<>-

The sky meat takes some hoglin meat in a bowl and goes to sulk off by the fire before throwing the meat over it.

-<>♥<>-

_ The matter is resolved. Sky meat has the stomach of a child and requires cooked food. _

-<>♥<>-

_ Your name _ , Philza writes.

Maybe it’s a bad question, he realizes when the piglin pauses. Maybe they don’t have names, or it’s something rude to ask, maybe-

_ ℸ ̣ᒷᓵ⍑リ𝙹ʖꖎᔑ↸ᒷ _

“Technoblade.” The piglin’s voice is dry and low and drawling, but it is not unkind.

“Techno,” he repeats. He taps at his own writing. “Philza,” he hesitantly points at himself.

!¡⍑╎ꖎ⨅ᔑ

“Philza,” Techno sounds as he takes in the new word. “Hm.”

It’s certainly a start.

* * *


	6. Wing Problems Am I Right

* * *

“Hey there, Techno.”

_ Techno. _ What a funny little word. He’d almost forgotten it was his, it had been so  _ long _ since anyone but the voices in his own head ever spoke it. And an even longer time since someone had spoken it and been kind.

(Philza was kind.)

_ Your sky legs _ , Techno writes.  _ You are still hurt. _

Philza squints his blue eyes, blinking a little too widely (his eyes were always oddly  _ open _ ), before laughing to himself.

_ Almost _ , Philza writes back.  _ Not legs. Wings. _

Ah. He was wrong. (Guess he’ll just spontaneously combust and die in shame then.)

_ A bunch of my feathers are broken, that’s all _ , Philza goes on. _ They’ll grow back but… _

Worn, callused hands stutter, just a moment. 

_ It takes time,  _ he finishes.  _ No potion can fix that. _

_ I’m sorry _ , is all Techno can offer.

A thin smile twists the mole by Philza’s mouth as he pats Techno’s arm.

These ‘wings’ are alien to him, but he supposes there’s something elegant about their structure. It is different from the gold in Philza’s hair, the silvery grey of stray feathers on his face and arms. His wings are dark, smooth and shining like gilded blackstone, the edges mottled a rippling white like ghast tears. 

There is something…  _ sad _ , seeing them in such poor shape.

Philza goes and starts his odd routine again. He goes to the farthest corner of the house and snaps one wing out from under the impossibly small shell tucked on his back. It’s nice that he’s trying not to take up too much space, but it still ends up being as long as the entire room, nearly dragging along the floor when he sits down.

After that he tends to fold it forward in front of himself so he can… comb it? He cards through it with his hands, smoothing and fussing at individual feathers.

Techno points to the considerably more tousled feathers at Philza’s back.

Philza smiles sheepishly as he pauses.  _ Too busted to reach it _ , he explains.  _ I had a preening comb for it but I must have lost it when I got downed. _

Ah. Yes. Preening. That is certainly a word, apparently, that Techno has now read.

_ That’s a made up word _

_ All words are made up _

_ Faaaaake. Fake words pog _

_ Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee _

_ E e e e _

Techno holds out his hands, inclining his head toward the mussed feathers.

Philza hesitantly nods, bringing his opened wing more forward, showing how he straightens the quills and neatens the interlocking strands.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

The feathers on the root of Philza’s wings raise like hoglin’s hackles when he touches them- mildly alarming, but probably understandable. He has to be  _ careful _ \- what is simply loose hair elsewhere seems to be outright crippling when it comes to the feathers of wings.

He’s a bit slow to start- the hooves of his fingers prove unwieldy for the task at first, but he gets the hang of it.  It’s like weaving, kind of. Meticulous, repetitive, thumbs gliding over delicate strands so not a single fray remains. It is not boring, but it is…  _ cathartic _ . Meditative, perhaps.

And apparently sleep-inducing, because when Techno looks up from his work Philza’s gone and passed out in the crook of his own hand.

Techno does not laugh. He does not.

(A grunting chuckle does not count as a laugh.)

* * *


	7. First Off, I Don't Fucking Levitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about how flying works.

* * *

_ How do you use your wings to run?  _ Techno asks in their journal.

Philza laughs. “ _ Run? _ ” he half-wheezes.

_ Sky run. The-  _ Techno frowns, huffing sharply as he gestures at Philza’s wings.  _ Whatever those are for. Don’t make fun of me. _

“Sorry, sorry.” Philza takes the offered book. “It’s  _ flying _ ,” he says as he writes the word down.

Techno lets out a confused noise.

Philza points up. “In the air.”

_ How? _

_ Flapping my wings _ , Philza answers in the book. “Y’know,” he starts up when Techno looks blankly at him, “like a-”

He mimes the motion with his hands.

Techno squints.  _ Sounds fake, but okay. _ He hums as his writing pauses.  _ It’s like a ghast _ , he guesses.

“Ghast,” Philza sounds. He draws the crude jellyfish-like shape he vaguely remembers.  _ This balloon looking thing? _

_ I understood some of those words, but yes. _

“That’s not flying, that’s  _ uhhhh _ -” Philza lets out a long, drawn out noise as he tries to remember how to write the word in endewrit. “Floating,” he finally recalls as he writes it next to the picture. “Ghasts float.”

Techno slumps with mock shame over his mistake, clutching his glasses and laying himself dramatically against his chair.

Philza’s chuckles trail off as a new thought crosses his mind. “You actually understand me, don’t you? You don’t always need the book.”

Techno blinks one eye open, ear cocked for a moment, before waving a hand in an uncertain motion.  _ I’ve heard overworlders talk from far away before and you read out loud a lot.  _ His mouth flattens. _ I get some of the words you say when you read but not all of it. _

  
  


“Huh.” Philza leans back. “You’ve never really said anything back to me before.”

At that, Techno’s expression turns sheepish.  _ Not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure I’d be bad at it. You’ve heard me talk, it’s not like your words. _

“Can’t be  _ too  _ bad,” Philza offers.  _ Maybe one of these days we’ll get you talking like an overworlder, huh? _

Techno snorts, smile pulling at his tusks.  _ And one of these days you’ll start floating again, _ he writes back.

“First of all, I don’t fucking  _ float _ -”

* * *


	8. Flyaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just need to cut and run.

* * *

Techno wouldn’t say he was the town hero, per se. He wouldn’t even say he had _friends_ there.

But he thought they had an understanding of sorts. He doesn’t bother them, they don’t bother him. He doesn’t even live _in_ the town, and he doesn’t want to- he built his house on the edge of a soul valley for a reason, after all.

He can be alone and that’s fine.

_But he thought they had an understanding._

At the very least he thought they tolerated him.

He was _good_ , or at least he tried to be. He stayed where he wouldn’t frighten them, he brought back cuts of the extra hunts the voices in his head drove him to. If they would never love him, he would make himself too lucrative to get rid of.

Not lucrative enough, it seems. There’s a hunting party gathering in the town. More than there should be. 

And that’s an awful lot of crossbows for a hoglin hunt.

_Fight._

_Lame. Lame piglins. Small brain._

_fight? Fight pog?_

_HEHHEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE_

**_FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT_ **

“Later,” Techno grunts under his breath. “At least gimme a few minutes.”

_Lame_

_Technolame_

**_Blood for the blood god_ **

_Blood blood blood blood_ **_blood_ **

He huffs sharply, stamping down the eager pound of his heart timing with the chorus’ excitement. “We need to check on Philza.”

_Phil!_

_Philzaaaa_

_Mr sky meat, sky me a meat_

_Mr philza my beloved_

**_Philbo_ **

“I swear,” he insists as he quietly trots back home. “You guys are probably more invested in the guy than I am. And I’m the one who has to _live_ with him.”

_Hehehe_

_Hehe_

-<>♥<>-

Philza’s gone and taken up busywork when Techno goes out. Sometimes he takes inventory, or writes in their book. Lately he’s even been moving things around to one of Techno’s raised storehouses. Useful things, raised storehouses. They’re built above the soul soil, so hoglin and piglin alike wouldn’t be a problem. (Except for Techno, who’s just built different, apparently.)

Besides, it’s probably good to get out of the house and stretch his wings, even if he can’t quite fly yet.

Right now though, he’s just hunched over the fire cooking some meat. It’s not the peak of effort, so he still waves at Techno when the guy gets inside.

-<>♥<>-

Techno has less time to care than he’d like. There’s _probably_ time before the ‘hunting party’ shows up, but he can’t count on that, he still needs to prep for the fight that’s coming up-

-<>♥<>-

“Are you going out again already?” Philza innocently asks. 

Techno’s hand twitches on the handle of his axe.

-<>♥<>-

...Shit.

This… this can’t turn into a fight. Not here.

Techno is not afraid to fight. He could care less either way how it goes down, and the chorus has been getting blood hungry lately anyway. It does not matter for _him_ if this turns into a fight. 

But he’s not the only person in this house.

-<>♥<>-

Someone’s knocking on the door. That’s never happened before.

Techno doesn’t move to answer it.

“Philza,” he hesitantly calls instead.

_Well shit._ That’s probably the second time Techno’s said his name at all.

“Yeah?”

Techno gestures at his wings. “You fly?”

Philza feels his wings shuffle slightly under their shell. “Not yet, no.”

“Hmm.” 

Techno looks through the lattice of the window for a moment before herding Phil through the back door of the house. He points at the storehouse in the distance. “Run.”

“Do I-” Philza stutters. “Do I come back?”

Techno pauses. “I don’t know.”

“What’s going on?”

-<>♥<>-

What’s going on is that Techno’s finally overstayed his welcome on life and that the other piglins are about to collect on that.

What’s going on is that the chorus in his head is getting louder with every knock on that front door, and if he ever opens it someone’s probably going to die.

What’s going on is that this is going to turn into a fight. It’s going to turn into a fight and it _can’t_ , because if it does there’s going to be _blood_ , and _if there’s blood-_

If there’s blood. 

If there’s blood, and Philza isn’t 500 blocks out of here, he’s going to die and he’s not even going to know why.

_What’s going on?_

“I don’t know,” is all he can repeat.

-<>♥<>-

When Philza is out the door with (hopefully) enough food, Techno sighs.

He leans against the table and looks around the house he’s lived in for longer than some of the piglins outside can remember.

He looks at everything he has ever built and made, reduced to this one roof over his head, and finds there is nothing of this place that is worth protecting with his life.

There’s probably something sad about that.

He stows his book and glasses in the pocket of his tunic, shoulders his axe, and opens the front door.

-<>♥<>-

In Philza’s defense, he really was planning on doing what he was told- after all, if Techno had spent his first words to Philza on those kinds of instructions, it was definitely important.

But also, he really wanted to know what the fuck is going on.

He’d only looked back a little bit as he was climbing up the storehouse. There’s… there’s a lot of piglins outside of the house. _Armed_ piglins.

The nearer ones have already broken into the house, and come back out with fistfuls of his fallen feathers, shaking them accusingly at Techno, who seems to be trying to defuse the conversation.

It’s- it’s fine, right? Techno’s gonna be fine. He’s a pretty big guy, he can handle himself. He told Philza to wait, and that was that.

It’ll be fine.

-<>♥<>-

“We allowed you to place your home in the bounds of our territory,” Goldtusk spits. “We _tolerated_ your witchcraft with _souls_.”

“I don’t see why that needs to change-”

“You bring the body of an overworlder into our midst!” Goldtusk barks sharply, kicking into the ground with her hooves. “And you went and _raised it from the dead!_ ”

“He was only _mostly_ dead,” Techno tries to deflect.

“AS IT SHOULD HAVE STAYED!” A gurgling growl rises in the other piglin’s throat. “As _you_ should have stayed,” she hatefully hisses, “with all the rest of your cursed kind.”

A cold blankness crosses into Techno’s face.

“Don’t play coy, _Technoblade._ We all know the stories. You were _spared_ ,” Goldtusk sneers. “Spared what fell the rest of your soul-peddling tribe, for the sole reason that you were but a child when they met their rightful fate. We will not repeat the weakness of our elders.”

_Kill_

_disrespect_

_KILL_

_No different from the hunters that came before them_

_KILL KILL KILL_

**_To speak ill of our lost priests_ **

****

Techno lowers his head, huffing with unspoken challenge. “You don’t want to do this.”

“No,” Goldtusk quietly concedes. “But we will.”

-<>♥<>-

Philza doesn’t know what they’re saying, but they sure are saying alot of it.

Techno and the group have moved away from the house. That’s… good, right? That means they’re talking it out, right?

They’ve… really moved far away from the house. He has to climb up all the way to the top of the storehouse to see where they’ve gone.

It’s only when he’s sitting on the roof that he notices the way they’re slowly herding Techno _really_ close to that cliff. Techno’s been keeping his eyes forward on that leader guy who’s been doing the talking, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. But they’re practically at the edge and that- that just seems kind of dangerous, doesn’t it? They could get someone killed like that.

...There’s a guy loading a crossbow in the back of the group, milling around and pretending to fiddle with it. And he’s about to aim.

_Oh gods_ , Philza dimly realizes. _They really are gonna kill him._

So like any reasonable person, Philza stands up, snaps open his wings, and dives.

-<>♥<>-

It takes a moment for Techno to realize he’s not falling.

He looks back at the cliff. A few piglins are trying to load their crossbows, some are heading for their striders down by the lava river below.

One of them’s on the ground, crossbow, knocked out of their hands. 

They aren’t getting up.

There’s a bloody dent on their head pooling into the ground, curled like the talons on Philza’s hands and feet.

The same hands and feet hooked into his clothes as they float over the lava river.

(If Techno had been standing just a little bit to the right, that would have been him. Huh.)

Philza cranes his neck down at Techno and smiles, wild eyed as ever, and the small spike of fear Techno dared to feel subsides. “Hello again.”

“You said not yet,” Techno points out.

“This isn’t flying,” Philza insists. “I’ve still got no lift. The best I’m doing is a glide _oh fuck_ -”

As Philza swerves, Techno locks eyes with the angry ghast they just avoided.

Techno steadies his axe. “Hold still.”

“But-”

“ _Hold still_ ,” Techno repeats.

-<>♥<>-

Before Philza can ask what he’s planning, Techno raises his axe and fucking _swings it_ at the incoming fireball like a bat. The craziest part of it is that the hit actually connects, sending the blast back towards the ghast.

The force of the swing nearly throws them into a stalactite before Techno veers around to kick the column of rock, forcing them in the opposite direction.

For a guy who can’t fly, he’s got a pretty good eye for it.

But as much fun it is to be in the air again, Philza still has too many broken feathers to _stay_ in the air much longer, even with the good thermals all the lava provides. The landing is rough, especially with the living cargo he’d been hauling, but it’s a landing.

“Are we good?” Philza wheezes out. “ _Gods_ , my arms. Thank fuck I used my legs, too.”

-<>♥<>-

Techno squints back in the direction they came from. “Nope. More run.” He points out the incoming mob of piglins crossing over on striders. “No good.”

“Now what?”

_Here_

_here_

_Over here_

_This way this way_

_Into the warped forest_

“Here,” Techno calls as he grabs Philza’s hand, leading them both into the woods.

“Where are we going?” Philza asks as he tiredly trails behind him.

_Wherever the voices in my head tell me to, apparently._ “Not here,” Techno says instead.

After twisting through the warped wart thickets for a short eternity, the overly vocal map in his head leads them to… a weird obsidian thing that looks vaguely like a door.

Philza apparently recognizes it, though, furiously patting his clothes until he produces a small metal contraption, striking the two ends of it until a spark forms. It lit for only a moment before the odd door suddenly flared to life with swirling purple film.

He spares one last look at Techno before disappearing through. 

Techno looks behind himself just long enough to dodge the arrow that almost hit his chest, and fall into the door himself.

-<>♥<>-

The Nether portal flickers shut.

He’s alive. _Holy fuck._

Philza lets out an uneven laugh that echoes into the birch forest.

Techno chuckles on the ground beside him. “You float like a ghast.”

Phil turns around with mock fury. “I do _not_ float, you bastard!”

“Hold still like ghast,” Techno smiles cheekily.

“That was _different_ , I was riding a thermal-”

* * *


	9. Minute Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You lived. Now what?

* * *

The portal didn’t have an outpost on the other side- it didn’t even have a frame beyond the bare minimum needed to let it run, which would explain why it died out the second they hopped through. If it really is _this_ abandoned and out of the way, it’s probably an illegal portal.

Philza supposes that’s a good thing- it means no one’s around to question why he’s stepping out of a nether portal with a live piglin.

It also means, unfortunately, that he has no idea where he is, or where civilization could be.

Wherever Techno lived in the Nether, it had to have been less than a day away from wherever Philza had crashed, and _Philza_ had crashed maybe a few clicks away from the hopper portal he came out of, at most. But the reason Philza went to the Nether in the first place was to test for himself the travel difference between dimensions. He has no idea how his and Techno’s last stretch through the nether even _translates_ in the Overworld.

Somewhere during Philza’s train of thought, Techno stood up, blank eyes peering at the slowly mounting twilight. “The ceiling is changing. That bad?”

“The sky just does that sometimes,” Philza reassures.

“Sky.” Techno huffs, a thoughtful pause in his voice. “So that’s what it looks like.”

“The sun’s about to go down soon, though,” Philza notes. “We better be off the ground before then.” He looks around. “No outpost, but there should be a shelter nearby. Or a storehouse at least.”

“Yes. I understand some of those words.” Techno blinks. “What’s a sun?”

Philza chuckles. “Let’s save that for tomorrow. We’re gonna need blankets first.” He slides his wings around himself like a cloak. “You will, at least. The overworld’s a lot colder than the Nether.”

As stupid as setting up an illegal portal is, whoever did it was still smart enough to hide their storehouse in an old sturdy birch tree with enough supplies that no one would notice if two uninvited people helped themselves. (Is it still stealing if they’re stealing from technical criminals? Who knows? Certainly not Philza.)

He doesn’t really need a blanket when he’s got wings as big as his, so he passes his on to Techno as an extra layer.

Techno, for his part, squints skeptically as Philza lies down on his stomach. “No run?”

“It’s not good to go out when it’s dark,” Philza explains. “We have to wait until it’s bright again. Might as well sleep.”

“Hmm.” Techno fishes through his tunic, pulling out his glasses and book to lay them by the bed he barely fits in.

Philza pushes back up slightly. “Is that-” His words grow halting with the realization. “Is that all you have?”

“It’s all I want,” Techno simply says.

A book full of words with a virtual stranger, and the glasses to read them with.

(Philza’s hardly any better. He took _Techno._ )

He could have said everything and nothing to that simple fact. Instead, he takes off his hat and tucks his face into the shadow of his wings. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” Techno experimentally parrots back. “Good night.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have some official art with this and am considering making an in-universe encyclopedia of Minecraft Bullshit for laughs. Would you be interested in seeing either? We've done official art extras and companion guides for our series in the past.


	10. You Only Live Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't we all?

* * *

Techno is managing to learn quite a lot of things in the short time he’s been in the Overworld.

Like how apparently there can be such a thing as so much water it makes _rivers_.

He knows water. It is something that drips from stalactites, fogs caves, squeezes from cut plants and the lifeblood of animals. He did not know there could be so _much_ of it that it blanketed the ground like lava.

It could even be treaded, as striders treaded lava. 

Techno did not know this when Phil folded up his sleeves and pants and simply _walked into_ the stuff. He knew that Phil knew more about the overworld, and trusted the odd man not to kill himself, _but still_ \- the memories of piglins who fell off their striders in rivers (or worse, the seas) was always too fresh.

It’s fine. Philza would not burn. (Water does not burn. Water does not burn.) He simply… waded, if that was the word.

“Why?” Techno bluntly asks.

“I’m fishing,” Philza responds as he kneels above the water, hands poised.

“What’s a fishing?”

Instead of answering, Philza’s head cocked with a sudden intensity as his hands punched into the water, and when his arms re-emerge there’s a strange wiggling _thing_ worming around in his talons.

“Fishing for fish,” Philza reiterates. “These are salmon, so they’re really meaty.”

Meat. So fish is a kind of food animal. Huh.

He can do that. Totally.

-<>♥<>-

He cannot do the fishing.

He can _catch_ the fish in his hands, he’s fast enough for it. But his hooves are not good for _keeping_ them, and they slip out of his fingers.

Which, naturally, the chorus thought was absolutely _hilarious_.

_Fishy fishing_

_Lame_

_Technofish_

_Technolame_

_Hehe fish goes dance_

“Don’t make fun of me,” he mutters under his breath.

_Do it_

_Do it do it do it_

_Technosupport_

_Eeeee_

_Yeeeee_

Somewhere around what Philza called ‘noon’- where the ‘sun’ is in the middle of the sky- Techno had the bright idea of trying to use his mouth to catch the fish.

This idea was brilliant until the exact moment he tried it. Then it was terrible. Because that’s when he learns water is not something a person should be _breathing_. Oh boy.

He’d just barely breathed in when the water shot up his nose and stabbed down his throat like thorns, prompting him to shoot up out of the water with wet, raking coughs.

Eventually Philza took pity on him and pointed out that he could use his hook to catch fish.

-<>♥<>-

In retrospect, that may have been an excessive amount of fish. But hey, it means they won’t have to catch any tomorrow.

Or the day after that.

Or possibly a week. 

(He does not know how long a week is. That’s just what Philza said when he saw how many fish Techno got. Techno’s learning all sorts of fancy time words now.)

Listen. They’ve got a fire going. They can just smoke-dry the stuff. _It’s fine._

Besides, ever since the water breathing incident, his throat’s started to feel a little odd and crunchy, so he’d like to avoid any repeats of that.

“Probably should have taken these off beforehand,” Philza wearily laughs as he takes off his waterlogged bracelets. “Damn force of habit.”

As the man rubs at his now bare wrists, Techno catches sight of the odd markings there again. A warped red heart on each wrist, indents carved into it like angry eyes.

Philza catches his gaze. “They’re pretty spooky, huh?”

Techno looks off to the side. “I don’t make fun.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” 

Philza leans back against the log he sits on. 

“It’s hardcore,” he starts up again. “I was born with it, apparently- bad luck, I guess. Most people get their three lives no problem, meanwhile...” he looks down at his markings. “...well, I’ve just got the one.”

Techno blinks with a mild confusion. “You sick?”

“Not really, but, uh- hardcore made me a little more fragile than normal, kind of,” Philza concedes, scratching at the back of his head.

“Why is that weird?”

Philza pauses. “What?”

“Isn’t-” Techno wrinkles his nose as he tries to find the right words in their limited shared language. “-people all have their one life, right?”

“...Do you…” Philza’s face looks almost _horrified_ , and isn’t that funny. “...do you not have life marks in the nether?”

“I understand some of those words,” Techno deadpans.

“ _Gods_ ,” Philza whispers. “I thought you _had_ to have life marks down there, seeing how dangerous everything was.” He looks at Techno with what might just be a newfound respect. “You’ve been hunting ghasts on one life like it’s nothing.”

“Technoblade never dies.”

Philza sputters with laughter. “Apparently not. Man, you’re _insane._ ”

“So are you,” Techno fires back.

“You got me there.” Philza slaps his knee with amusement. “Crazy bastards, the both of us.”

“Sorry?” Techno hesitantly apologizes.

“Nah, man.” Philza’s wild blue eyes soften, just a bit. “It’s kinda nice, I think. Maybe we’re crazy bastards together.”

“Oh.” Techno looks down and watches firelight play on the shine of his hooves. “Yeah. That _is_ kinda nice.”

* * *


	11. A Menace Of Phantoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other sky meat.

* * *

“Philza,” Techno starts up one evening.

“Yeah?”

“Something’s following me.”

Philza looks back at Techno, who points up at the dark winged shape circling him from above the treeline.

It’s a bony, spindled thing, white spines armoring a night blue body, its wide flat face peering with green eyes. Its wings are not like Phiza’s- they are veined and dappled with shimmering scales.

Philza tilts up his hat as he squints at the shape. “That’s a phantom,” he says. “Shouldn’t bother us.”

“Don’t like it,” Techno insists. “Keeps jumping on me.”

Philza frowns. “Have you not been sleeping?”

“I don’t sleep like you,” Techno deadpans. “Crazy person who sleeps all night.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Philza nods. “That’s why you’ve got bags under your eyes.”

Techno rubs at his eyes, stamping down the mounting ache behind them. “It’s fine. Just… not used to the day-night thing.” He tilts his head sideways to escape the phantom’s latest dive. “Don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Phantoms hunt tired animals,” Philza explains. “People too, if they can.”

“Guess I’ll die.”

“Not today.” Philza takes Techno’s arms and drags him to the clearing the road cuts into. “Stay here.”

Techno sits down in his spot, looking up at the flying animal waiting to swoop down on him again.

Philza climbs the tree behind him and leaps off just in time for the phantom’s dive, punching the creature’s frail skull into the ground with the flaring talons of his hands.

He looks back confused at Techno’s shocked expression. “What? It was bullying you.”

“And you killed it. With your bare hands.”

“Yeah. And?” Philza stands and drags his kill by its wide bony neck. “It’s no big deal, we’d eat these guys at home all the time.”

“Please don’t ever land on me and break my face,” Techno flatly states.

“As long as you never bash my wings in, deal.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> techno seeing his weird friend crush an animal's neck with his bare hands: is this fear or intrigue


	12. Stand Up And Look At The Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And let yourself dream, for a while, of things you'd like to do.

* * *

Tonight, there was no place to shelter. Not fast enough.

Tonight, there was too many zombies, more spiders than anyone ever asked for, and a tree lucky enough for them to roost on.

Techno shoves a spider down with a long stick. “These guys are kinda big, huh?”

“ _A bit_ , yeah,” Philza sarcastically concedes. “Nasty little fucks, but it ain’t worth fighting them off. If we keep ‘em down they’ll be tame by sunrise.”

“And the green guys?”

“They’ll burn. We just gotta wait ‘em out.”

Techno chuffs under his breath, snout pushing with the motion. “Lame.”

Even so, he doesn’t go charging down the tree like Philza thought he might, simply pushing down the spiders and studying the groans of zombies.

Philza turns his eyes back to the horizon, keeping watch for skeletons.

“It’s a scary world.”

Philza turns back to his friend. “What do you mean?”

“Crawling with mobs all the time. Always scared of the dark.” The angry glow of spiders flicker in the milky blank reflection of Techno’s eyes. “A scary life.”

“It’s not so bad,” Philza defends. “Certainly not the walking wasteland _you_ crawled out of-”

Techno snorts.

“-and besides,” Philza shrugs, “I don’t even live here.”

Techno pushes down the latest spider with a light kick. “I figured.”

“No, no, I mean- I don’t live, uh-” Philza taps the scruff on his face. “-I’m not _from_ the Overworld.”

Techno blinks. “There’s more places?”

“Dimensions, yeah,” Philza corrects. “I came out of Sky, myself. We don’t have all these kinds of mobs, not like here.”

“I’m guessing it’s in the sky,” Techno snarks.

“Oh, yeah. Pretty much all just floatin’ islands.”

Techno pauses. “Like a ghast,” he skeptically surmises.

“Kind of,” Philza snickers.

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

“You know what?” Philza’s voice pitches with mock fury. “I’ll _take_ you there sometime. Then you can stand on a floating island and tell me how fake it is.”

Techno’s eyes soften. “That would be nice.”

And then he falls.

-<>♥<>-

He hadn’t meant to. He thought he was _fine._

He’d been getting the hang of the whole tree climbing thing, even with the weird headache he’d been getting recently, and then his foot decided to ruin everything by going all numb and fuzzy and slip him off the branch.

_Techno-_

_Techno?_

_Hey, hey-_ “Techno, c’mon,” Philza whispers as he slaps at Techno’s face.

Techno lethargically blinks the haze out of his eyes, briefly marveling at the fact that he’s still on the branch. (Philza’s other hand has one hell of a grip on his shoulder. That might explain it.) “I think I stood wrong or something,” he finally says.

“Ya think?” Philza nervously laughs. “Gods. Don’t freak me out like that, man.”

“I try,” Techno wheezes. “Did you check for spiders?”

Philza looks down at the dark blue spider crawling up his branch. “OH SHIT-”

-<>♥<>-

Techno stares at the newly murdered spider. “I could eat this.”

“Oh, please don’t. That’s a cave spider.”

“A cave spider I could eat.”

“ _It’s poisonous_ -”

-<>♥<>-

Techno leans against the trunk of the tree. “Why is the sky shiny at night?”

“Those are stars.” Philza tilts up his hat as he looks up. “They’re always up there, but the sun is so bright you can only see them when it's gone.”

“That’s a lot of colors.”

“If you think that’s a lot, you should see it from the winter biomes,” Philza smiles. “I don’t think there’s a prettier sky anywhere else.”

“Do you have stars?” Techno asks. “In Sky. Or- wherever that place was you’re from.”

“Not really,” Philza admits. “It’s…” He rocks his head as he tries to find the words. “...like a sunset,” he decides. “A sunset that never ends. It’s not stars, but I think you’ll like it.”

Techno hums. “I think I would.”

The mobs leave them be, at least for now. The two of them raise their heads in silence, looking at the stars.

Philza hears a crunching noise.

“Techno.”

“Philza.”

“Are you eating the bark off the tree we’re standing in?”

“It’s basically a mushroom, right?”

“ _It’s... really not._ ”

* * *


	13. Catch And Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thinking in the long term.

* * *

“Your voice sounds different.”

“Heh?”

Philza cocks his head. “Yeah, it’s all… low, or something.”

Techno hums. “Must be the words. Piglin words are… higher? I think.”

“Weird.” Philza’s long feathered ears flick with thought. “Guess it’s been a while since you’ve been around your own speakers, huh?”

“Maybe.” Techno waves his hand flippantly. “Anyways. You wanted to go to one of those town things?”

“Yeah.” Philza stretches and sighs. “We’re gonna have to stock up on a lot of shit. Probably get a map, too, because I have…” He shades his eyes with his hands as he looks out on the worn path. “...no fucking clue where we are.”

Techno barks a short laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me, this is a you problem, too. We’re gonna need to figure out where the next portals are.”

Techno pauses. “What do you want that for?”

“You’re not my hostage, y’know,” Philza points out. “You’re gonna want to go back to the Nether _one day_ , right?”

“Oh. Right.” Techno runs a hand through the short mane of fur on the back of his head. “About that. I don’t… actually want to go back.”

“But-” Philza stumbles over his words. “-it’s your _home_ , right? I don’t mean going back tomorrow, but- wouldn’t you want to get back to your life? Settle down, get yourself a lass?” He stutters as Techno dryly frowns at the last comment. “ _Or a lad!_ I hear that’s-” He coughs awkwardly. “I hear that’s a thing. I don’t judge.”

Techno squints. “I’m not- I’m not really- I’ve never really… wanted to _settle down_ , I guess. Nothing was home, and- well.” He idly clacks his jaw. “Too late anyway. I’m already here, might as well stay.”

Philza stops walking.

“What does that mean?” he asks. 

Techno chuckles grimly. “You saw how we left. They weren’t happy with me.”

Philza remembers stomped ground and angry barks and fistfuls of feathers brandished like knives. “That- that was my fault, wasn’t it.”

“Nah. They already hate me. You were just…” Techno trails off. “...just a reason to go for it.”

“So you- you really can’t go back.”

Techno shrugs. “No point.”

A heaviness settles on Philza’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Techno huffs, firmly patting Philza’s hat with a stilted motion. “Wasn’t your fault. Would have happened one day anyway.”

“A-alright.” Philza squints as Techno draws back. “What’s up with your fingers?” 

“Heh?”

He gestures at Techno’s hoof...hand… things. He’s still not sure what those are called, to be honest. “They’re all dark-looking, like under the furs.”

“Weird.” Techno digs into the ground around a flower before eating the plant, dirt and all, the soil blackening the fur of his hands. “Wonder how that happened.”

Philza sighs resignedly. “You can’t just stick everything in your mouth, you know.”

“I do not have the stomach of a child,” Techno responds with a pointed glance back at Philza.

“Seriously, I mean it. You eat the wrong flower and you’re gonna go blind.”

“Ah. Yes.” Techno hums. “ _Blind_. That is a word that I am hearing.”

Philza snorts. “It means your eyes get broken, smartass.”

“Sounds festive.”

“I give up.” Philza snaps his wings as he raises his arms up in despair. “You’re a lost cause. I’ll leave for five seconds and you’ll die while I’m not looking.”

“That’s what you said when I ate zombie meat,” Techno points out.

“And then you went and poured dirt and _creeper sand_ all over it like some kind of monster,” Philza cringes. “Why did you even _do_ that?”

“It was crunchy and made it taste different.”

“Oh boy,” Philza laughs, “you’re gonna love salt.”

“Salt. Yes. Another word,” Techno flatly comments. “Sure hope they have it in one of those towns you like to talk about.”

“If they don’t even have _salt_ , then we’ve got a whole other host of problems, mate.”

* * *


	14. Stars.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stars
> 
> stars and the  
> sky.

* * *

Techno gave Philza his book. 

Or maybe it’s _their_ book- this book they both wrote in together, just so they could talk where words once failed them. Techno gave Philza their book, and his glasses to go with it, because he said they went together, and he’d lose track of that little thing if he separated them.

_For your shopping list_ , he had said.

Technoblade is a strange man.

He’s a _piglin_ , first of all. Probably the first piglin Philza’s really met, if he thinks about it. But Techno’s still a person. A really, _really_ weird person. A person who eats spiders and uses creeper sand as a spice, but a person nonetheless.

He’s also _smart_ . Philza doesn’t know why that surprises him when the guy was _brewing potions_ when they first met. He watched what Philza did and followed suit to a scarily competent degree, and he took to travelling pretty well.

(Even _if_ the guy’s got insomnia for days. Philza doesn’t know if piglins are just like that or if _Techno_ is like that.)

But _besides_ all that. Technoblade is a strange man, but an alright one, and now Philza’s walking around with their weird shared diary as a shopping list.

It took nearly a week’s worth of walking _after they found a road_ to stumble near a village. It’s a testificate village of course, so it’s not exactly the peak of modernity- but it’s got people and those people take _trade_ , and that’s all that really matters. 

He asked Techno to stay back and wait by the rest of their meager belongings. Testificates have always been respectfully tolerant of anyone who’s got something to offer, but Philza’s not about to test that tolerance on a _netherworlder_ , especially considering that their last brush with civilization was Techno getting chased out of his own village.

_Especially_ considering that Techno’s apparently thinking of sticking around, and maybe, just maybe, he’s thinking of sticking around _Philza_.

To be honest, it’s- it really has _been_ a while since Philza’s… been with anyone. In _any_ way. He calls himself a friendly guy, but these last few years (decades, more like) he hasn’t been sticking around in one place long enough to _have_ friends.

Maybe it would be nice to have a traveling buddy. At least for a while, until Techno inevitably settles down. (They all do, eventually.) 

It’s been nice having someone to teach, to travel with, to talk to. 

He’d forgotten how nice it was to just _be_ with people. And if he thinks about that sad little fact any longer than he already is, he might just start yearning for one stiff drink too many, so he’s going to… not do that.

He’s just going to not think about it.

Maybe he’ll just buy something nice instead! That’s what people do, right? He’ll buy something nice for Techno- something nice for _them_ , something they could share. Maybe another book? Or proper chinagraphs, they could stand to be writing with something better than charcoal.

“Oh, right!” He loudly says to himself. “Spices!”

He can’t exactly buy an entire spice cabinet, but he could buy some salt at least, just like he promised. Maybe some sweets, too- Philza doubts they have much of that back in the Nether.

He imagines the wide-eyed shock of Techno trying chocolate drinks for the first time and chuckles. Maybe they should swing by a jungle biome sometime.

They definitely don’t need meat. If anything, Philza’s trying to trade out all the nonsense Techno’s gone and hunted in the night, conventionally edible or otherwise. (Seriously, the guy turned to Philza and offered enderman marrow of all things.) They could really go for some vegetables, or some…

...well now Philza’s realizing he’s been staring at a bundle’s worth of bread _way_ more longingly than he has the right. Whoops. 

Does he _need_ bread? Not really. Honestly, it’d be weird if he ate grain stuff as much as he hears humans do. (Can you imagine? Eating bread every day? That sounds fake.)

_But on gods, that’s a really good price for bread._

So an excessive amount of fish lighter, a smattering of emeralds heavier, and one bread-laden hand less free, he heads back to the outskirts of the village, where Techno sits by a tree.

“I didn’t think you’d steal so much food,” Techno drily comments.

“Excuse you, I paid for this,” Philza insists as he shakes his hard earned loaf in Techno’s direction. “Besides, might as well indulge while we can.”

“Can your child stomach even eat all that stuff?” Techno snarks.

“I have a perfectly adult stomach. It’s not my fault you’re a walking smelter.”

“What are you even saying?” Techno tiredly laughs.

Philza smiles daringly. “I’m saying I can eat as much of this stuff as you can, so come over here and prove me right.”

So Techno stands and walks towards him.

And then he doesn’t.

-<>♥<>-

He stands and then he doesn’t- 

(He doesn’t?) 

He’s bent on the ground, knee haphazardly knocked into his stomach with wet coughs and low warped gasps and the taste of iron sliding out his throat and

Red on the grass, like (what was) roses, and thorns, 

and ringing and r e d and

he distantly realizes, past someone else’s panicked pleas as clawed hands gently shake his face,

That his friend’s eyes were

The exact color of

Of

Of

A cloudless sky.

(And unshed tears look like stars.)

* * *


	15. My Friend, My Pal, My Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's my friend.

* * *

“Techno?” All his things be damned, Philza tosses it all aside to kneel down by his friend. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

Techno just… wheezes a short laugh on the ground, blood bubbling out of his mouth in thick, uneven bursts. “Took… it long enough.”

“W-what took long enough?” Philza roughly grabs his friend by the shoulders, trying to get him sitting properly. “What’s happening, are- are you sick? Did you get hurt?”

Techno softly shakes his head.

“We should-” Philza looks back to the village. “-we need to get a doctor-”

“No.” Techno’s hooves weakly grab at Philza’s shirt. “It’s- it’s okay…”

“You  _ need _ help!”

“ _ I told you… _ ” Another barking cough. “I told you…” Techno weakly repeats. “It’s too late.”

“I-” A weight settles around Philza’s heart like chains. “ _ I don’t understand. _ ”

“I followed you.” A wet sniffle, a swallow of iron and blood. “I was dead when I stepped through that door. Only needed time.”

_ Oh gods. _

“I killed you,” Philza realizes. “By taking you into the Overworld.  _ I’m killing you _ .”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Techno distantly assures. “Would have happened one day anyway…”

“I  _ did _ this to you-”

“ _ I did this _ ,” Techno roughly interrupts. “I fell through, I already-” His words devolve into barking coughs.

“...You already knew.” Philza takes a shuddering breath. “You knew it was going to kill you and you  _ did it anyway, fuck _ .” He drags his hands over his hair. “Fuck,  _ fuck _ ,  _ FUCK! _ ”

“It’s okay,” Techno whispers. “It’s okay.”

“No,” Philza’s voice cracks, “no, it’s not.  _ Gods _ , just-  _ why? _ Why would you  _ do  _ that?”

“There was too many of them, and I… I fell.”

“But-” Philza fruitlessly attempts to drag him up. “It’s just  _ here _ , right? We can- we can just take you back! We can find another portal and you’ll be fine! You’ll be  _ fine! _ ”

“No.”

“Fucking hell!” Philza shouts. “Do you  _ want _ to die?”

“I… told… you.” Techno takes in a shaking breath. “I’m dead. I die here… or I die there. I still die.”

“No,” Philza whispers. “No, you can’t. You can’t just  _ give up _ like this.”

“I don’t wanna die, Philza.” 

Philza pauses. 

“But I will." Techno smiles, small and shy, and his toneless voice pitches with something that just might be sadness.  "So I just…” The piglin hangs his head low. “...I wanted to die with the sky you gave me.”

-<>♥<>-

Most people get three lives.

Philza just has the one.

It is a fragile life. It is more prone to injury, more prone to breakage, it is a wavering candle forever waiting to be felled by the slightest gust of wind. A hard, brittle heart. 

Stories say that the hardcore curse first came into being when a foolish mage tried to achieve eternal life. He created a life mark as beautiful and eternal as crystal, and as fragile as glass _. _ An eternal life that no bearer would ever live long enough to enjoy.

When the cleric first saw the single warped heart on his wrists as a child, she told his parents he could expect ten more years- twenty if he was careful, thirty if he was lucky.

He outlived his parents at 45.

He outlived his siblings at 60. 

He buried his last childhood friend at 85.

He left Sky when he was 92.

It was easier to drift. It was easier to travel. Fly and roam and never roost.

It was easier that way, to forever imagine his countless brief companions for what they were when he met them. To never have to imagine them old or dead ~~or slain~~.

Maybe in a hundred years, maybe in a  _ thousand _ years, he will be old and strong and hardened to death. 

Maybe when he is so old that people invent gods in his name, he will see death and he will know better than to grieve.

But he is not there yet.

Now he is young- young enough to bury friends and still remember it, young enough to  _ mourn _ it, young and heartbroken and  _ foolish _ . The first friend he’s dared to know since he last buried everyone he loved his  _ dying _ , and it hurts.

(It hurts.)

Philza is 119 years old. 

He is old enough to look death in the eyes and young enough to think he can still say  _ no. _

-<>♥<>-

“Sir?”

Nathan barely even lifts up his head. “Aye?”

“Could you take us to the nearest shrine, sir?”

“At this hour?” he gripes. “What the blazes would you be wantin’ to-'' He flinches back with a loud snort. “ _ Good GODS! _ ”

It’s the fucking elytron man that wandered in this morning. Sturdy, odd looking fellow- wild lapis eyes, long feathered ears, that uncanny shell shining on his back over his big black coat.

Said shell is now flared open to make way for the man’s  _ fucking five block wingspan _ . One of those wings is hanging out with no care in the world, and the other…

...well, the other is bracing a whole live piglin where the man’s arms alone aren’t strong enough.

“Please sir,” the elytron smiles thinly under the shadow of his hat. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Nathan leans back on his carriage bench. “I ain’t aidin’ and ‘bettin whatever Sky witchcraft you’ve got goin’ on for yer exotic pets. Notch above, is nearin’ sundown! Come back tomorrow.”

“Please,” the man repeats, smile wavering. “Please, I-” 

The man’s voice cuts with a bubbling gasp. 

“My-my-my friend’s a big guy,” he insists, adjusting his grip on the piglin. “I can’t-” An odd laugh escapes his mouth. “I can’t carry him, sir, I just-  _ haHA _ \- if it's not t-too much trouble, h- please, please, he-”

Whatever sense was left in the man clear and fucking fled with the strain of his smile and the hysterical bubble of his laughter. Just…  _ laughing _ . Laughing and giggling like a child.

“Please,” the man begs past his giggles, “please, he’s my friend,  _ he’s my friend _ ...”

The words get drowned in another bout of shaking giggles, the compulsive gasps just starting to read like a sob past the wet shine in his eyes.

“I’ll… I’ll give you a ride t’ the nex’ town over,” Nathan slowly offers. “They’s got a shrine there. But I ain’t given’ yous a ride back. The hour’s too late. You’ll have to find yer stay where I’m droppin yous.”

The giggling, tearing elytron nods his head past the strain of his grin. “Thank you, sir.”

* * *


	16. You Are Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The priest is crowned.

* * *

- _ you’re not gonna die. It’s gonna be fine, it’ll be fine, you- ha- you’ll be fine! _

“Philz…?”

_ You’re gonna be fine, and you can eat whatever you want an' I won't even be mad, I swear, you don't- _

_ -you don’t get to die. You can’t. Don’t leave me. Not now, not like this. _

“It’s okay…”

_ Technoblade never dies, right? Not here, not like this, we’ve been at this far too long, you- you would have gone out big and loud, right? Not like this, not like this, please, I hh- _

_ -haHAH- _

_...Please. _

_ Anyone. _

“What are you…”

-<>♥<>-

“ _ Please _ ,” he whispers. “ _ Anyone _ .”

It’s not working. (Why isn’t it working?) It was- it was  _ supposed _ to work.

Techno’s still alive, it should  _ work. _ The prayer has been called, and a patron god will hear it, Techno will get three strong life marks on his wrists  _ and he’ll be fine _ . There’s- there’s nothing wrong with the shrine, and Philza, he- he did everything right!

Right?

So why isn’t it working?

_ You know why _ , a more rational voice whispers in his head.  _ He already told you. Piglins don’t get lives. _

“Fuck you,” Philza whispers under his breath. “Who the fuck is sitting around being too damn holy to save my friend? He’ll  _ die _ .”

Philza is not a god. He has no aspect, no domain, no followers.

Philza is not a god. He is not…

... _ he is not a god. _

A god would be stronger than this. A god would have power.

(Philza is not a god.)

He does not have power. He does not have strength. His soul is spun of nothing but eternal patience and fragile defiance. 

Is that not power in and of itself? The defiance. The spiteful desperation flying out of mortal tongues, in screams and whispers from the very beginning of their existence, speaking nothing more or less than…

“...I don’t care who’s on the other side. Gods, spirits, demons,  _ anyone. _ Just-  _ somebody, help _ .”

-<>♥<>-

Technoblade hadn’t put much thought into the afterlife, to be honest.

It’s not like he thought he was going to live forever. He just… didn’t really care what waited on the other side.

Lives, lived, will live. Dies, died, will die.

To worry for the dead is the concern of the living. The dead do not grieve.  _ He just thought he’d have more _

Time.

Time? He knows time. It is the growing lines on people’s faces, it is the creep of mushrooms, it is the slow dusting of bones and the drift of sand. He is-

He does not know his time.  _ Age. _ That’s the word that Philza taught him.  _ Age _ is the funny word to measure the time that things have spent in the world. He does not know his  _ age. _

That’s… sad. Isn’t it? A life unmeasured.

Philza would have thought it was sad. He seemed to care about things like that. Techno tried not to make him sad. He thinks he might have failed. There was…

...pleading. And tears. Shouting, happening to other people. And…  _ grief. _

Why was there grief? Who was there to grieve? What was there to mourn?

Grief is for the living.

(Grief is for other people. It is not something spared for a discarded orphan priest, whittling down the rest of his days in the dying pursuit of tending to forgotten spirits.)

Something is… wailing. In the back of his head. A voice. Voices?

(A chorus in mourning.)

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say. 

He feels the words like they came from his mouth, but the voice is not his own. It is lower than a piglin’s, droning and drawling. (It makes sense. The sickness came for his throat first.)

The wailing only grows.

“I failed you, didn’t I?” he asks. “That was selfish of me. I didn’t… I didn’t think about what was going to happen to you when I was gone. I just accepted it.”

He might have sighed.

“We had a good run. We did the best we could. I’m… glad you came to say goodbye, before I-”

**_NO!_ **

**_NO NO NO_ **

**_NO NO no NO NO NO_ **

**_NONONONONONONONO_ **

The screaming and the wailing and the  _ noise _ , it builds and swells like the roar of rain and a pressure on his skull and a burn in his blood like  _ stop it stop it stop it stop it- _

-<>♥<>-

Techno doesn’t wake quietly. Philza isn’t sure why he expected any different.

He wakes with a bolt, with an aborted shout, with mercifully clear and heaving gasps.

He wakes with disbelieving eyes, a golden shine blown wide under his perpetually faded blank stare.

He wakes with a hooved hand gripped on a wrist with three golden hearts.

He wakes with the brand of a golden crown shining dully on his head.

“Techno?” Philza hesitantly asks.

Techno squints at the new life marks on his wrist, reaching up still shaking hands to gingerly touch the brand seared down to his skull. (Philza knows exactly how deep it goes. He saw it sear into existence and he couldn’t even scream.)

“You, uh- you alright, mate?”  _ Stupid question _ , Philza chides himself.  _ The man just had a god burned into his brain. _

-<>♥<>-

_ Help? _

_ Help pog? _

_ Technowake _

_ Technolate for the technowake haha _

“What-” There’s… gold, on his wrists, and… a metallic flatness on his forehead, an empty brand where fur used to be, almost shaped like  **_a crown for a king._ **

**_Blood for the blood god, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD KING_ **

Techno hisses at the ringing pressure of the brand, and the harmonic pitch the chorus had never spoken with before. What used to be a whisper rises now into a constant hum, drowning the sound of the rest of the world.

There’s a hand on his wrist ( **kill him** ) ( _ you know him, you know him _ ), a hand speckled with gray downy strands, edged by black talons.  _ Philza _ . 

The hand stays. The chorus’ hum tides down. There is sound in the world again.

“Hey,” Philza shakily greets, eyes flickering with exhaustion.

He sounds  _ worried _ . Something… happened, something happened to Techno. Right.  Techno should… say something.

“Well then,” he flatly says, echoing what he’s heard Philza drily repeat a thousand times over. “That was dramatic.”

-<>♥<>-

And Philza laughs.

When he remembers the rest of the world exists, he can apologize to the carriage driver, and the cleric, and all the other poor people he must have frightened in order to get to where he is.

When he remembers the rest of the world exists, he can tell Techno that there should have been red hearts on his wrist, not golden ones. They can question what that means, they can question the crown burned onto the piglin’s head, they can question why Techno was speaking to himself when he woke.

When he remembers the rest of the world exists, Philza will question why Techno gets to be the exception of everyone else he has ever buried.

But that is when he remembers.

For now he will only remember to laugh until his wings shake with all the tears he forgot to cry, because his only friend is defiantly,  _ defiantly _ alive- and for now?

That will do.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This is not the end of the series. There's more installments planned (and more of the Long Long Arctic Friendship) and we're hoping to work up to where the Dream SMP present day is eventually. Also, look out for a companion fic that will feature official art for the series.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos, comments, critique, and unsolicited professional mourners equally welcome.  
> If you're interested in this becoming a full Dream SMP series, please let us know and consider looking into supporting us on Discord or Twitter. Or just join the Discord for funsies, asking questions, and getting faster chapter notifications.
> 
> https://discord.gg/xdhnqKj
> 
> https://twitter.com/aenorllelo


End file.
